A Pensive Fantasy
by Buggo
Summary: Ginny was just like any other girl.  She wanted a man to love her, a man who she could love and respect and grow old with.  But she was tired of tenderness - she wanted a little fun in her life.


Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter were meant for each other.

From the moment the two had started dating, their relationship was perfect. It was a fairy tale; it was meant to be; it was that sappy romantic comedy that no one wants to admit is their favorite movie – but it totally is. Everything fell perfectly into place (minus the obvious Voldemort complications during Ginny's sixth year). And when Voldemort had been defeated and reparations had been completed, Harry and Ginny were finally able to settle down.

And that's exactly what happened. They settled. They were very much in love, and Harry showed it to Ginny in many ways. When they made love, he really _made love_ to her. He was warm and tender with her, and he held her in his arms for hours afterwards.

And it drove her absolutely mad.

Ginny was just like any other girl. She wanted a man to love her, a man who she could love and respect and grow old with. But dammit, she wanted a little _fun_ in her life. She wanted passion, and fire, and darkness that sent chills down her spine and made her scream out in vicious climax. Harry had just never given her that.

In his defense, she'd never actually asked him to. For whatever reason, Ginny found it somewhat impossible to say the words "Fuck me 'til I break" to the noble, protective, _Gryffindor_ of a man that she loved so much. But she needed a way to tell him what she wanted, without actually _telling_ him. She didn't want him to think that she didn't love the way he kissed her, the way he worshipped her body with his lips, the way he moved in and out of her, moaning her name. Who _wouldn't_ love that? Ginny simply needed a good fuck every now and then, and she knew just how to get it.

Only a few months ago, Hermione had been experimenting with her pensieve and had added a delightful feature – not only could one store memories of events and people inside; one could now store thoughts, dreams, and mental images. It was a stroke of genius on Hermione's part, and combining it with a bit of advanced magic of her own, Ginny was about to solve her little problem.

Harry came home late from work that night. He rubbed his weary eyes and sent his coat drifting to its hook on the wall, wondering at the time. Ginny was usually awake when he got home, and he felt a pang of remorse knowing that he missed kissing her goodnight. As he made his way to the stairs that led to their bedroom, he noticed that Ginny's study door was ajar and there was a faint light emanating from within. Wand in hand, Harry warily crossed the foyer and opened the door – only to find that Ginny had left her pensieve out on her desk.

Ever curious, Harry made his way over to the swirling thoughts and glanced around the room guiltily. But old habits die hard – Harry pushed his face through the surface and fell, with a thud, into his own bedroom.

And there was Ginny, lying lazily on the bed, eyes closed in what appeared to be a peaceful rest. Harry was just admiring how relaxed she seemed when he was jolted into a stream of scenes that he could say, with absolute certainty, had never occurred.

There was Ginny, dressed in hardly anything (but what she was wearing was almost definitely leather), arms and legs spread out and tied to the corners of the bed. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the shadow of a figure that hulked over the bed –

A flash of light, and Ginny was blindfolded, squirming in the grasp of the unknown figure. Harry felt his blood boil, but before he could figure out who the attacker was –

Another flash and Ginny, _his _Ginny, was being held up against a wall, screaming out with every thrust from the man before her –

A flash, and Harry once again saw her lying calmly on the bed, eyes still closed but moving feverishly beneath their lids. And then he heard her panting between her softly-parted lips and noticed that her hands were busy –

Another flash of light and he saw her being thrown onto the bed. Her attacker came into light and Harry saw – himself. Ginny looked at him fire in her eyes, and –

On the bed, alone, she moaned with pleasure as her hands worked overtime. Harry felt himself getting harder than he'd ever felt, watching her fantasize about him. And the fantasies themselves were making him ache with anticipation. But before the next scene could present itself –

Harry yanked himself out of the pensieve and bolted out of the study. Any exhaustion that he had felt upon leaving work had been replaced by a lust that was more animalistic than love. He dashed up the stairs and threw the door open, not caring if Ginny was asleep. He needed what she had shown him. He needed to give her what she had given him.

But Ginny was awake. She was lying on the bed as he had seen her in the pensieve, panting slightly with half-lidded eyes. There was a musky smell in the air, and as Harry entered she gave him a look that he had seen many times before, but one that he had never acted on.

He would never make that mistake again.


End file.
